Whispers of Shikiban:The king walks among us-Chapter 72 --
Chapter 72 --72
20 Years Ago
The rain hit hard that day. A grey, unforgiving sky stretched over the town of Hasetsu like a shroud. Students ran with bags over their heads, laughter trailing behind them, shoes slapping against puddled pavement. Inside the school hallway, the echo of mockery hung heavier than the rain.
A boy stood alone near the lockers, face half-hidden beneath unkempt black hair. Enzo. Thirteen. Quiet. Tall for his age, but slouched as if the world pressed down on him more than it did on others.
His eyes were ringed by dark circles—not from lack of sleep, but from years of pain buried where no one cared to look. His skin, pale and often scarred by acne, made him the target of cruel jokes. His clothes didn't help. Always a bit too worn, too loose. But it wasn't just that.
It was how he looked at people.
That's what they said.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" a girl once snapped, recoiling like he was disease. Reika. She wasn't talking to him today—but her voice, sharp and commanding, reminded him of all those other days.
"Why you lookin' at me like that, creep?" "Stop acting like you're normal." "Gross! He's literally staring with those molester eyes." "Oi Enzo, don't even dream of someone like Akane."
Akane. The girl he once admired. Pretty, kind-seeming at first, the kind of girl who talked about "choosing people for personality" during lunchtime debates. Enzo had overheard her once saying, "If someone's a good person, I wouldn't care if they were ugly."
He had smiled quietly that day.
But then she said his name. Laughed at it. Called him disgusting.
That shattered something.
He didn't cry—not at school. Not even when they kicked his chair. Not even when they stuck gum in his shoes. But when he left the school grounds that day, bag heavy on his back, he didn't walk home.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.
He walked nowhere. Just away.
The basketball ground was lit by tall flickering lights. He saw Kashime Hirokori—popular, perfect, crowned by all. Hair like a shampoo ad, sharp jawline, girls orbiting him like he was a planet. Even the teachers smiled more around Kashime.
Why?
Just because of how he looked.
Enzo wasn't stupid. He'd read books. Watched films. Knew the speeches about "beauty inside." But no one ever chose that. Not really.
That night, he stood on the bridge near Old Town, fingers gripped the rusted railing. Not thinking of dying—just wondering if disappearing meant the pain would vanish.
He looked down at his reflection in the dark water.
And hated what he saw.
---
Footsteps. Bare, slow, deliberate. Enzo turned, startled.
A man stood on the bridge—no umbrella, no expression. Just presence. A haunting presence.
He looked... unreal.
Long black hair, lashes so sharp they looked painted, eyes glowing crimson like hellfire frozen in time. He wore a black-red kimono, patterned like it bled shadows.
"Why do you look so sad, child?" the man asked, voice velvet smooth but chilling.
Enzo flinched. "Don't talk to me. You're handsome... too handsome. I don't need pity."
"Handsome," the man echoed, amused. "That's what you see?"
Enzo nodded slowly. "That's what everyone sees. That's all they want to see."
He clenched his fists.
"I try to talk. I try to be kind. But they don't care. I look like a freak, so I'm a freak. No matter what I do, I'll never be... enough."
The man stepped closer. "So, what if you could be more? What if you could have a face that they all admired? A power they feared?"
"I'd take it," Enzo whispered without hesitation.
The man smirked. "Good. You're not like the rest. You don't pretend the world is fair. You see the rot. That makes you... interesting."
He raised a hand—nails like glass daggers. "Then become a Shikiban. Walk the other path. Not the pretty one... the powerful one."
Before Enzo could move, the man pressed his fingers to Enzo's chest.
A sharp pain shot through his body—like every vein was being twisted. He screamed, falling to his knees. Light bled from his eyes. His breath hitched. His bones cracked.
"You now hold the power of Time Manipulation," the man said, "and a new face to wear when the world looks. But remember, Enzo..."
The man leaned down, voice a whisper of winter wind.
"...beauty fades. Power stays. Hate fuels both."
Then he vanished—into mist, or darkness, or both.
---
Years Later
Enzo didn't become popular overnight.
He didn't walk into school the next day glowing with handsomeness.
No.
He vanished.
He trained. Endured.
Watched the world from the cracks.
Time was his to mold. Seconds bent to his will. He could walk through the past like pages of a photo album, feel every insult again, but differently.
He started to understand people—how shallow they were, how desperate. How fake.
And he began to change.
His body, once awkward, grew lean and strong. His posture straightened. His hair smoothed, and his face sharpened over time, manipulated by a technique he learned from the Shikiban.
But inside, he kept the boy on the bridge alive. The one with the shame. The pain. The rage.
He never forgot Akane's voice.
Or the laughter.
Now, when people looked at him—they saw something beautiful.
But when he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes.
He didn't speak of morality. He didn't believe in it.
"Humans are hypocrites," he would say. "They preach kindness but drink cruelty like water."
So when Reika asked him:
"You want to kill me? What's your motive?"
He didn't smile like before.
His eyes narrowed.
"Motive?" he said. "I hate humans. Because they always talk about morality—but they can't apply it in real life."
And maybe, just maybe, he still saw that boy in himself. But now, he buried it under vengeance.
And power.
Because if the world only loves beautiful things... He'd become the most terrifyingly beautiful thing it had ever seen.
